


A Bloody Good Time

by zombiekittiez



Series: Trick or Sheith 2020 [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: College AU kinda, Getting Together, Halloween, M/M, TrickOrSheith, adam as a trash bf, blood (fake), copious use of alcohol, haunted attraction, laundry mishaps, meet cute, scare actor Keith, scaredy-cat shiro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:08:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombiekittiez/pseuds/zombiekittiez
Summary: Oh.He’s got dark hair with a streak of white, a thin scar across his nose and the softest grey eyes sparkling with tears. Paired with that sharp jaw and fit build, Keith is completely bowled over. He’sgorgeous.Keith is suddenly pathetically glad that Rolo and Nyma pulled their careless little stunt- at least this way he knows what it’s like to hold a solid ten for a couple of minutes. Not likely a grubby, short, badly dressed gremlin like Keith will ever get the chance again, much less when he’s soaked in fake gore.“You saved me,” Takashi says with an adorable little smile that shoots straight through Keith’s blood spattered shirt to the heart.~~Trick or Sheith Day 4: Blood
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: Trick or Sheith 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033143
Comments: 37
Kudos: 195





	A Bloody Good Time

It might be a weeknight, but Wednesday is, as Lance puts it, _poppin’_ at Underworld, the state’s premier haunted attraction. It’s the week leading up to Halloween, so it makes sense, Keith figures. And who is he to complain, really. The work is seasonal but it pays well. Where else can he make $20 an hour silently skulking around with his best death-glare? Sure, the fake blood is sticky and smells faintly of peppermint, but needs must. 

It’s even a little fun, now that he’s used to it. In fact, once Keith figured out the arrangement of the strobe lights and the Pidge’s animatronic puppet show, he’d been able to weave and duck between sets with impeccable timing. Their director Coran had realized Keith’s ‘untapped potential’ and so he was yanked off portrait pop ups and sent to free-roaming, a decidedly more interesting position. Now he tends to circle around until he finds the screamer- the one person on the cusp of total fear meltdown. Then he does everything in his limited no-touching power to make that person break. Keith is the best at it, able to walk the fine line between fun and freak out. He’s fast, too, so he’s more or less able to dodge any errant fists or elbows thrown in a wild panic. Win-win. 

It’s still pretty early when that particular group of guys comes through. 

“Garrison punks,” Lance cackles gleefully through the headset. 

“Aren’t we Garrison punks?” Keith asks dryly. 

“Yeah, but _this_ bunch of Garrison punks has Matt in it,” Pidge chimes in. “And he knows all the tricks with the puppet show already, so it’s up to the scare actors. I’m counting on you all!”

“Secret weapon!” Hunk agrees. 

“Not so secret if you keep talking through the headset,” Keith snarks, turning the volume down and getting into position. 

It’s a group of four or five guys- upperclassmen, all taller than Keith. He spots Matt first, beanpole thin and pointing and laughing with delight as the giant spiders descend from the ceiling, animatronic limbs clacking ominously. 

Romelle takes the first scare, slinking behind them in her spider-lady costume, flaring the prosthetic limbs out fully before letting out an ear piercing shriek, her signature move. 

Matt startles and swears, and even through the low volume of the headset Keith can hear Pidge’s satisfied “ _Yesssss!_ ” But that isn’t the thing that catches Keith’s attention.

Keith’s found his screamer. 

In the dim light it’s hard to see specifics, but the guy is big- six foot plus and _stacked._ Despite this, he’s hunched over, shoulders nearly up to his ears and clinging rather sweetly to a bored looking man in glasses. They’re a cute couple, Keith notes. They could be in a gum commercial or something. 

The next room is the Hunk special- a tangle of mannequins, animatronics, and a single carefully concealed actor. While the group looks left and right and up and down to try and discern which blank faced mannequins are stationary, which have heads that turn slightly in their direction, and which roll forward slowly on a track, Lance silently slides up from the trap door, slapping his hands hard against the flooring with a sudden crack just as Matt’s group walks by. Matt just shakes his head but a few of the others jump; Keith’s screamer yelps a single bitten-off noise, burying his face into his boyfriend’s shoulder. The boyfriend rolls his eyes. 

Keith had been moving in for the kill but he pauses, unnerved. He’s no stranger to jackass boyfriends, pointing out their vulnerable dates or laughing at their panic, but it’s usually all in good fun, if a little mean-spirited. This feels… different somehow. He decides to trust his gut and hangs back for now, ducking behind a gauzy bit of curtain. The movement catches screamer’s eye. He’s so wound up that even such a small sway of the curtain causes him to freeze. Matt and the others keep going, oblivious to his distress. 

“Adam,” he whispers. 

The boyfriend- Adam- just grunts in response. 

“ _Adam._ ” He tries again, a little more urgently. “Did you see-”

“Why did you even come if you couldn’t handle it?” Adam hisses. He shakes his arm free. “For god’s sake, Takashi-” 

Takashi stands, stuck in place. Through the gauze, Keith can see that he’s trembling a little. He holds out a hand toward Adam but Adam is already continuing to the next room without looking back. Keith moves without thinking, the sound of his boot catching the edge of the wooden palettes stacked behind the curtain loud in the sudden silence. Takashi spares a single fearful glance back in his direction before stumbling forward. 

Into the dark room. 

“No, wait-” Keith tries but it’s too late. “Hunk,” he tries, fumbling at the headset, but the volume is low and there’s no time. 

Because Keith was wrong. Takashi’s not a screamer after all. He’s not the type who has fun in all the terror. He’s panicking and he’s alone. Keith finds him in the pitch black room, hunched over in the middle of the path, arms up above his head, silent and still. Hunk, dressed all in black, is pressed against the far wall but his vision has never been as good as Keith’s. Probably he doesn’t even know Takashi is there, and if Takashi manages to get to the doorway, that one final scare might push him into a full blown panic attack. 

“Hey,” Keith says, rough voice as kindly as he can manage. This isn’t usually his thing. He crouches down on Takashi’s level, reaching out a hand to pat the ground next to him. Takashi flinches away. “Hey, no. You’re okay. You want to get out of here?” 

Takashi nods, though it takes Keith a second to discern it from the full body trembles. 

“Can I touch you?” Keith asks gently. 

“Is he okay?” Hunk calls, catching on to what’s happening. Takashi curls back into himself at the sound. 

“He’s okay. Aren’t you, big guy? We’re gonna get you out of here and everything’s gonna be okay.” Keith says calmly. Takashi slowly drops one hand, holding it out into the darkness. It’s trusting and unbearably sweet. Keith has a momentary flare of irritation at the jerkass boyfriend. How could he leave someone that trusted like this? Keith carefully takes the hand, tugging Takashi until he is wobbly but standing. It fits nicely in Keith’s hand, though the texture is unusual- a prosthetic, maybe? There’s noise coming down the hall- the next group ready for their scares. Keith tugs Takashi off to the side. 

“Close your eyes, Takashi,” Keith directs kindly. Takashi obeys, bringing one arm up to bury his face in the crook of his elbow while the other clings to Keith’s hand. “Quiznack,” Keith calls ahead, the safe word Coran set up for when someone needs to be guided out without further scares. Past the creepy dolls there’s a side door exit, but Pidge’s voice crackles across the radio. 

“Got an upchuck at emergency 5,” she warns. 

“Damn,” Keith mutters. “Not more of Matt’s group?” 

“No… they’re all through. Aren’t they? Wait…” Pidge falls silent as she scans the security feed. 

“I’ve got a straggler, we’re on the move,” Keith assures her. 

“I’m sorry,” Takashi says in a tiny voice. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Keith says immediately. “Not your fault we did our job too well. Keep going- this is a step up, be careful. Just two more rooms. You’re doing such a good job.” The praise seems to relax Takashi, even as the surroundings shift to a morgue full of creepy clowns. Rolo and Nyma jump down from the bungee platform above with an ear piercing scream. Takashi throws his arms around Keith, not tight enough to hurt but close enough that Keith can tell that, _wow_ does this guy work out and _wow_ does this guy smell amazing, fear sweat and all. 

“I _said_ quiznack, goddammit,” he snarls up at them. “Get your ass out of your ears!” 

“Wow, like, sorry dude,” Rolo calls. Nyma scoffs. 

“‘M sorry, sorry,” Takashi is saying like a litany, over and over. 

“It’s okay, this is okay,” Keith reassures him, patting the arm around his neck a few times. “I’m stronger than I look. Let’s keep going. Just through here.” He continues narrating each step, praising Takashi for being so brave and doing so well until they clear the final exit and step out into the night. 

“You’re outside, you did it,” Keith tells him proudly and Takashi loosens his grip, stepping back a little so that Keith can see him clearly for the first time, lit up in blinking orange pumpkin lights. 

Oh. 

He’s got dark hair with a streak of white, a thin scar across his nose and the softest grey eyes sparkling with tears. Paired with that sharp jaw and fit build, Keith is completely bowled over. He’s _gorgeous._ Keith is suddenly pathetically glad that Rolo and Nyma pulled their careless little stunt- at least this way he knows what it’s like to hold a solid ten for a couple of minutes. Not likely a grubby, short, badly dressed gremlin like Keith will ever get the chance again, much less when he’s soaked in fake gore. 

“You saved me,” Takashi says with an adorable little smile that shoots straight through Keith’s blood spattered shirt to the heart. 

“Takashi?” A voice calls from behind. Adam is walking up, eyes wide. “You disappeared. I was worried-” 

Takashi turns toward his _boyfriend, Keith, you idiot._ Keith lets himself have one last longing glance at the back of Takashi’s shirt- one, he notes, that is dotted red from where he’d clung to Keith in the darkness. Ah, well. 

“Position, Keith?” Pidge calls through the headset. 

Keith steps back into the haunted house through the side entrance. “On my way back to start,” he affirms. 

“Everything okay?” Pidge asks.

“Fine,” Keith says through gritted teeth. 

“Ooooh man,” Lance whistles. “Sorority girls!” 

And Keith gets back to work. 

~~

Underworld stays busy right up to the weekend, when the crew goes out to Atlas Bar for drinks after closing. 

“Here,” Lance says, slamming down two shots. “A couple of screaming orgasms. Maybe that’ll fix your shitty mood.” 

“Fuck you,” Keith says amiably, clinking the glass against Lance’s as they down the drinks. He rubs his mouth with the back of his hand after, frowning when he notices the streak of red. “Damn, this stuff gets everywhere.” 

“Maybe if you ever washed your greasy mullet-” 

Keith’s glare could cut glass but Lance just barks out a laugh. “Oh, hey… Allura’s here.” Lance makes a pathetic attempt at smoothing down his already styled hair and disappears into the crowd. 

“Bottoms up!” Hunk grins, sliding Keith a mug and a shot glass. 

“Irish car bomb? Really?” Keith asks dryly, but he cheers the glasses, dropping the shot glass of Bailey’s and whiskey into the Guiness, chugging it down neatly before it overflows. Hunk chokes a little on his, finishing a few seconds behind. 

“You’re so good at that,” Hunk grins around a beer mustache. 

“Let me get next round,” Keith says, raising an arm to flag down a server. 

“Nah, I know you’re good for it.” Hunk scoops up the glasses in his big arms, walking them over to Shay the bartender. He’s always suspiciously helpful when she’s on shift. “Just do me a favor and have a good time tonight, okay?” 

Keith can only watch, bemused, as Pidge slides into the vacant seat with two mugs of pear cider. “You’re ganging up on me,” Keith accuses her.

She shrugs. “Prove it in a court of law, why don’t you?” She takes a deep, satisfying pull of her cider. 

Keith raises his own mug but pauses before drinking. “Are you even legal?” 

Pidge shrugs again, eyes sly over the rim of the mug. Keith sighs but leaves her be. The cider is refreshingly brisk, so he takes his time sipping it. Keith has always had a high tolerance- a neat party trick, mostly, but he’s only been here an hour or so- he’d best slow things down if he wants to make it till closing. 

“You want to talk about what’s got you down?” Pidge asks pointedly. 

Keith half shrugs. “Usual thing.” Pidge snorts. “Alright, fine. You remember that guy I had to help out the other day? Matt’s friend.” Pidge’s eyes flicker behind him a moment at that but then she fixes polite attention back to him, nodding slightly. “His boyfriend was a real piece of work, is all.” Pidge raises an eyebrow. Keith explains what went down and she listens, nodding occasionally.

Keith sighs at the end, playing with his empty glass of cider. “I guess I just got in my feelings about it. I mean you can’t rely on anyone, moral of the story. Imagine dating a looker like that, somebody who trusts you to keep them safe and you just… leave them.”

“It’s just a haunted house, Keith.” Pidge says, but her eyes are sympathetic. “It’s not… real.” 

“It can feel real, little things like that.” Keith says. “I know what it’s like, feeling alone.” He looks down to avoid Pidge’s sudden understanding. “I couldn’t do it. Leave somebody behind, I mean.” 

A glass clacks against the table to his left. He starts to tell Lance where he can shove it when he sees Lance and Hunk at the pool table across the bar. His brows furrow in sudden confusion. 

“You didn’t,” an unfamiliar voice says behind him. 

Keith half-turns in his stool, vaguely registering as Matt swoops in to steal Pidge’s glass. 

“I don’t think so, pipsqueak!” He walks away, chugging exaggeratedly. 

“Hey!” she chases after him. 

“May I sit?” Takashi asks. He looks even better in the bar lights, shoulders broad and straight, a genuine smile on his face. Wordlessly, Keith gestures at the now empty spot and the big man slides into the seat. 

“Hi,” Keith manages. 

“Hi,” Takashi says shyly. “Do you... know who I am?” 

“Takashi,” Keith says, then blushes fiercely. “Sorry, that’s… I heard your boyfriend-”

“Ex-boyfriend,” Takashi says quietly. 

“Oh?” Keith asks, perhaps a hair too eagerly. 

“Well.” Takashi looks away. “Things were already… not good. I think what happened might have just been the last straw.” 

“I’m sorry.” Keith says sincerely. 

Takashi shakes his head. “No. Don’t be. I... “ He clears his throat. “That’s for you.” He nods to the side. Keith glances down at the glass. “Rum and coke okay? As… a thank you.” 

“Oh. You didn’t have to, but… thanks.” Keith takes a polite sip. 

“Hey, Shiro!” Matt yells over at the bar. “Tequila shots!” 

Takashi makes an x motion with his hand and Matt turns away, laughing. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks. 

“That’s what most people call me. It’s, uh. Takashi Shirogane.” Shiro grins sheepishly. 

“Wow, I’m… really sorry. That was rude of me. I’m Keith. Keith Kogane. Nice to meet you, Shiro.” Keith sticks a hand out without thinking much. 

They shake hands- a nice firm grip, Keith notes with despair. Shiro pauses though, still holding Keith’s hand in his prosthetic. 

“You don’t mind it?” He asks. 

“Mind?” Keith asks, puzzled. 

Shiro smiles again, squeezing Keith’s hand gently before letting it go. “Takashi is fine too, if you want. If it’s you.” Keith, tongue tied, takes another drink to buy time. 

“Oh no,” Keith groans, catching a glimpse of red smeared along Shiro’s prosthetic. “This stuff gets _everywhere,_ I swear-” he grabs a cocktail napkin and begins dabbing at Shiro’s arm. 

“It’s okay, I know.” Shiro sounds amused. “It’s been a real bitch to get the stains out.” 

“I owe you a shirt,” Keith realizes. 

“You definitely do not,” Shiro says firmly. 

“I _do,_ yours must have been ruined-” 

“What are _you_ two talking about, eh?” Matt slurs. He’d clearly disregarded Shiro’s earlier deferral and has brought three tequila shots over. 

“Laundry,” Keith says flatly. 

“Wow.” Matt shakes his head, sliding each of them a shot. “You definitely need these, then.” 

“I’m driving,” Shiro says with a frown. 

“We got time,” Matt waves at him. “Though maybe not if you’re gonna regale him with the tale of how you’ve managed to ruin half your wardrobe this week-” 

“What?” Keith asks, confused. 

“On second thought,” Shiro mutters, taking the shot with a grimace. 

“I don’t understand.” Keith says plainly. Shiro motions toward Keith’s shot glass and nimbly plucks the last shot from Matt’s hands. 

“Hey!” 

“Turnabout is fair play,” Shiro counters, and he and Keith clink their shot glasses together, throwing them back as Matt resigns himself to heading back to the bar.

“So.” Keith fiddles with the empty glass. 

“So.” Shiro repeats nervously. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” Keith says, slowly gaining confidence. “But I think I only owe you for one shirt.” 

“I might have gotten some fake blood on my shirt when you helped me out,” Shiro allows graciously. “The night I broke things off with Adam for good.” 

“And then?” Keith prompts. 

“And then… I might have gotten fake blood on another shirt. Or two. Or three.” 

“Fancy that,” Keith deadpans. 

“Look.” Shiro glances up at the ceiling and Keith notes that the tips of his ears have gone red. “I’m not… good at that kind of thing. Haunted houses. Dark places. Talking to cute boys who rescued me.” Shiro peers up at Keith through the floof of his white bangs. 

“You think I’m cute?” Keith asks incredulously. 

“I tried coming back through the house three times this week but I couldn’t make it past the first two rooms. I kept panic running to the exits, bumping into props and actors and walls… I’m surprised you didn’t hear about it.” He half-shrugs, embarrassed. 

“People tap out early all the time,” he protests. “That’s not something to be ashamed about. It’s not for everyone- did you really come back three times?” Keith interrupts himself to ask. 

“I did.” Shiro affirms. 

“Why?” Keith asks. 

“I wanted to… thank you.” Shiro stumbles over the words. “Then Matt caught me trying to scrub blood out of my clothes and after he figured out that I hadn’t actually killed Adam and didn’t need help hiding the body, he told me about the weekends at Atlas and…” 

“Well.” Keith remembers his forgotten rum and coke and slides it between them. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh.” Shiro’s expression dims a little. “Yeah, I guess I. I guess I did that. Already.” 

“Yep,” Keith agrees. “No more thanks necessary.” 

Shiro nods, shoulders falling a bit. 

“But,” Keith says meaningfully, and Shiro glances up again, grey eyes hopeful. “It turns out I owe you a couple of shirts.” 

Shiro opens his mouth as if to argue the point but then blinks thoughtfully. He settles back into his chair. “Yeah?” He says instead. 

“Yeah,” Keith agrees. “Couple of shirts, couple of dinners, maybe?” 

“Smooth,” Shiro teases but his eyes have gone a bit starry. 

“I have my moments,” Keith says demurely. “Unless you wanted a replacement a little sooner?” He plucks the collar of his t-shirt meaningfully. 

“I’ll call the Uber,” Shiro says immediately, fumbling for his phone. 

...Keith really loves his job.


End file.
